


Irises

by frequencyshift



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Historical, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Not Really Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:04:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frequencyshift/pseuds/frequencyshift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stranger starts laughing, and Beca can't help but stare disbelievingly up at her. For it is a girl, she thinks, due to the wild red hair (and how had Beca missed <i>that</i> while searching for her?) that falls down around her face. Eyes the color of the summer sky are beaming down at her, set in a pale face smudged with dirt. Her clothes are ragged things, hardly worth the word, with a vine as a belt and leaves woven into the fabric in place of patches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irises

Beca can hear her housekeeper calling for her, but there are times being so small for her age is actually beneficial. The grass has grown tall this summer, with only herself and Mrs. Abernathy at the house. Papa had been called away to the war, along with the butler and the gardener and the gardener’s boy. So now it is just the two of them, here at the small country estate at the edges of the forest, and there are plenty of places for Beca to hide.

"Rebecca Anne Mitchell, you get back here this instant and do your chores!" Mrs. Abernathy hollers from the kitchen door, hands covered in flour firmly panted on her hips as she glares out at the wild garden that has sprung up where a fastidious yard used to be. "Don't you think you're too old for a switching."

Despite knowing that the woman can't see her, Beca sticks her tongue out anyway. She's near the edge of the property, right where it runs up to the woods, crouched in a tangle of bushes. If she moves now, Mrs. Abernathy will see her. It's a game to Beca, to see who's patience will run out first. Lately, Beca's been winning.

After five more minutes of yelling out into the summer air, the older woman throws her hands up in disgust and walks back in, slamming the kitchen door shut behind her. Beca is moving almost before the soundwaves reach her, restraining her whoop of joy until she's safely in the woods.

The trees are her family, her home, her refuge and her best friends. She scrambles amongst them, over and under them, like a monkey (her father had taken her to see one at the London Zoo, before the war started). She loves them in a way that's easier than loving the people around her. The trees don't leave her.

She finds her way to the blackberry bush, eager fingers barely flinching at the brambles as she impatiently pulls a handful out and stuffs them into her mouth. She knows which ones will taste best instinctually, practically bursting with juice as she touches them. Despite how much Beca wants to, she doesn't strip the bush bare: there would be none the next time if she did.

Beca's reaching for what she has decided is her last berry when the laugh rings through the forest. She starts, catching her hand on the blackberry bush. A bead of blood forms, and she swears softly.

"Tha's no v'ry ladylike," a soft voice says liltingly, and now Beca is looking around frantically for the source. "Didna yer Ma tell ye tha's no' how a lady speaks?"

Still Beca can't find the voice, but the mention of her mother has her scowling fiercely. "My mother is dead," she spits out. "How presumptuous of you to make assumptions."

There's a laugh again. "Ooh, there's fire in th' wee one." Despite the lack of visuals, suddenly Beca knows the humor is gone from the air. "I didna mean t' speak ill o' th' dead. My apologies."

Beca sniffs. "It's hard to accept an apology from someone you can't see," she points out, still looking around.

"Fair 'nuff," says the voice.

Suddenly, there's a face in front of Beca, mere inches from her own, and she shrieks before falling over backwards.

The stranger starts laughing, and Beca can't help but stare disbelievingly up at her. For it is a girl, she thinks, due to the wild red hair (and how had Beca missed _that_ while searching for her?) that falls down around her face. Eyes the color of the summer sky are beaming down at her, set in a pale face smudged with dirt. Her clothes are ragged things, hardly worth the word, with a vine as a belt and leaves woven into the fabric in place of patches.

"Rude!" Beca finally gasps, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. The wild girl is laughing at her, and it's making Beca's ears burn. "You are a rude thing, aren't you."

The girl stops laughing, barely, but the smile doesn't leave her face as she looks down at the pouting creature before her. "Apologies, m'lady," she says brightly. "Twas fair rude o' me indeed." She reached down, hand extended in an offer of assistance.

Beca thinks of refusing, because she's mad at the girl for startling her and then laughing. Plus, this is a stranger. With filthy hands and questionable moral character. But Beca is nothing if not fair, and she recognizes that after tearing through the forest for the past hour, she looks questionable herself. She puts her hand in the other girl's, blushing when she notices her fingers still stained with blackberry juice.

The girl hauls Beca up, reaching out and casually brushing away the leaves and dirt from Beca's frock. Her hands seem to be everywhere, and Beca can feel her cheeks and ears burning. "Where did you come from?" she asks abruptly. If anything, it makes her feel more embarrassed, because now she's definitely being rude too.

"Here an' there," the girl says, motioning vaguely behind her. The non-answer is irritating, and Beca is about to get angry again when hands are grabbing hers, holding tight. "Ye should come see what I've found," the girl breathes, excitement bright on her face. "Tis a sight t' see, m'lady."

Beca wants to tell her to let go, to stop touching, to speak proper English so that she could have a prayer of understanding what's going on. Also, that she's not actually a lady, she's only fourteen, and the girl really shouldn't be so presumptuous. But the girl is pulling her along, moving so fast that Beca can't do anything but stumble after. Soon, they're racing through the trees, moving faster than Beca ever has before. It's scary, and exhilarating, and soon she's whooping along with her new friend as they rush headlong.

The girl stops abruptly, so that Beca almost runs into her, but when she opens her mouth to complain she finds a dirty hand slapped over her mouth. She's outraged, but when the other hand points at something in the lee of a fallen tree, her eyes follow involuntarily. She quickly forgets how forward with her person this stranger is, and stands enthralled by the sight of the mother fox and her kits, frolicking in the quiet of the glen.

\---

The haranguing Mrs. Abernathy gives her when she returns, just as the sun sinks below the trees, goes right over Beca's head. She's so out of it that it startles her when the housekeeper suddenly stops and places her hand on the girl's forehead.

"Are you alright?" the woman asks, frowning. "Usually I can't keep you from running your mouth, but now you seem to have lost your tongue."

Beca shrugs, and is lightly boxed on the ear for the trouble. "Sorry, Mrs. A," she says grudgingly.

Mrs. Abernathy just gives her a look, taking in the soiled dress, muddy feet and stained fingers. "Get you to your chores. Then you'll bathe with no supper," she scolds, flapping her hands at the girl. "Go on, git. Wash your hands first!"

Beca nods, and moves quickly to the water pump. She scrubs at her fingers with a scrap of soap, head filled with laughter and kits and eyes the color of irises.

It isn't until she's crawling into bed, tired and hungry, that she realizes she doesn't know her new friend's name.

\---

Beca spends the rest of the summer hoping to see the girl again, to no avail. It isn't until the leaves have completely turned that she gives her up for lost.

\---

_One year later..._

"Mrs. A," Beca calls, grabbing a basket near the door. "I'm going to pick blackberries."

The housekeeper looks up from where she's cleaning the fireplace. "Alright, dear. If you like, I'll show you how I make your favorite pie when you return."

It's a tacit agreement for desert, and Beca grins. "Smashing," she says, and skips out the door.

It's a hot day, and before she walks past the garden (peas and carrots and other vegetables that are no longer easy to find at market) she's slipping her shoes off. The summer loam feels good under her feet, and soon she's skipping as she makes her way through the woods. The trees are still her best friends, and she finds herself searching for other delicacies to add to the basket. The mushrooms are exactly where she remembers them, and she picks them gleefully before continuing on.

The brambles are even wilder this year, overflowing with berries. She bemoans the few that are already on the ground for lost, but her fingers are deft as she quickly fills the basket. A few find their way into her mouth, but she restrains herself as she thinks of the pie to come.

Despite herself, she tenses as time passes. It never changes as she returns to this same place. Since the year before, she finds herself straining for the sound of laughter, and as always she is disappointed. Beca scoffs at herself, standing with a full basket, and turns to head back home.

Her feet have a different idea, though, and she finds herself taking the long way. She comes upon the small stream that runs nearby, not even deep enough to swim in, and wades up it leisurely. A hand comes up to tuck a lock of hair that has come loose from her plait behind one ear.

She almost doesn't hear the rustle in the leaves. When she looks, there stands a boar, eyeing her with one cruel eye. She freezes, unsure what to do. Boar are increasingly rare in the English wilds, otherwise Mrs. Abernathy would never have let her wander so far. Beca doesn't know if she should run, or stay still, and her heart is beating so wildly she fears the boar will hear and take it as an invitation to charge.

The wild yell startles both human and boar. The rock that comes flying out of nowhere to hit the animal right in between the eyes is even more surprising. Next thing Beca knows, a green and red blur is moving between her and the brute, and it's so startling that she nearly falls over, kicking up water all over herself.

The boar apparently decides this new creature is too strange for its taste, and turns to run away.

"Tha's right, run ye bastard!" Beca's savior yells, and she'd recognize that voice anywhere. Another rock goes sailing after the boar, striking with impressive accuracy on its rump. A squeal drifts back.

"It's you," Beca breathes, staring at the girl before her. She's drenched, and several of her mushrooms and berries are now in the stream, but all she can do is gape.

"Aye," the girl replies, lazy smile on her lips and eyes twinkling. Her hair is even wilder than before, with bits of flora stuck in it almost artfully, and she's grown more than Beca has. Her clothes are more leaves than anything else, now, and she's still filthy, but strangely Beca realizes she's beautiful. "Twas luck. He weren't more than a babe. His Da or Ma be a bit more fearsome, were ye t' stumble upon 'em."

"But where have you _been_?" Beca asks, incredulous, still not moving. She's not entirely sure she's not dreaming. Surely she could have tripped and hit her head, and this is all but a hallucination.

The girl's smile widens. "Did ye miss me, then?" she asks, and it's almost cocky.

Just as quickly, Beca's irritated. It's amazing the way her emotions run wild with this girl. "Of course not," she says, almost sneers. "I hardly know you at all."

"True," the girl muses, stepping forward. She plucks at Beca's wet dress. "Ye shouldna wear wet things, ye know?"

"It's your fault," Beca scolds. "You startled me." The dress is uncomfortable now, though. She wants to take it off, but for some reason the idea makes her cheeks flush.

"Forever apologizin', am I," the girl says with a deep sigh. "Am I so awful, for ye t' be frightened?"

"NO!" Beca blurts out. "I just - you simply _appeared_. After having been gone for so long," she adds, frowning. "Where did you go?"

The girl shrugs, a languid gesture that seems far less awkward than when Beca does it. "Here an' there," she says. "Come, I know th' place t' go t' dry off," she adds, and once again she's holding out her hand to Beca.

"I don't even know your name," Beca says shyly, but it doesn't stop her from reaching out and grasping the warm hand with her own.

"Chloe," the girl replies, gently leading Beca out of the stream. She doesn't let go of her hand. "Ye be Beca, Dr. Mitchell's girl."

After a moment, Beca decides not to pull her hand free, simply letting Chloe pull her along. It's nice, in a weird way. "How do you know me?" she asks softly, staring at the other girl. "I don't know you, and I've met everybody at the village by now."

"But I don' live in th' village," Chloe replied, looking back with a wink. "Now who be presumin' things?"

She does an awful lot of flushing around Chloe, Beca realizes. She wonders if the girl doesn't make her sick somehow.

They end up at a large, flat rock on the edge of the water, some twenty minutes downstream. The sun hit it perfectly, and there's room enough for Beca's frock and the two of them. She only hesitates for a moment, because there's certainly nothing wrong with going down to her shift in front of another girl, no matter how strangely it makes her feel. They stretch out on the rock, enjoying the heat of the day on cool skin.

"Once yer frock's dry," Chloe says after a few moments of comfortable silence. "I'll help ye wi' th' shrooms and berries."

Beca turns her head to the side, eyes gazing on the other girl's profile. Chloe's eyes are shut, and in the light Beca can see the faintest dusting of freckles over the clean line of her nose. She has the urge to draw the girl, even though she knows her drawings are never going to be anything more than passable. Mrs. Abernathy would be delighted that Beca finally wishes there's been a way for her tutor to stick around.

"Thank you," Beca replies softly, and it takes an unusual amount of effort for her to tear her eyes away. She looks up at the blue sky above, and wonders why it now seems somehow lacking.

"Of course, m'lady," Chloe burrs.

Chloe's hand finds Beca's, and the brunette doesn't hesitate to lace their fingers together.

\---

Beca's so distracted that evening that she botches the pie preparation, and when Mrs. Abernathy goes to scold her she finds the girl's cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. This time Beca definitely has a fever, so she's sent to bed early with a spoonful of awful-tasting medicine and a heavy quilt, despite the summer warmth.

"Whatever did you get up to today, hmm?" Mrs. Abernathy asks as she tidies up the small bedroom, holding the filthy dress up between her hands and clucking over it.

"Chloe," Beca mumbles, burrowing under the covers. "She saved me."

The housekeeper blinks, frowning in confusion. "Chloe? Who's this?"

"Friend," Beca manages to get out before she's breathing heavy, already asleep.

That stops the older woman cold. She brings a hand to her heart, a soft "Oh," coming out. Beca doesn't have friends, sadly. She has always refused to interact with the children in the village, viewing herself better than them as a defense mechanism to their instant dislike for the doctor's daughter. Only the gardener’s boy, Jesse, had been friendly to her, and when the war started he'd run off to join, lying about his age. It had broken her poor little Beca's heart. To hear her now call someone friend fills her with a quiet joy.

Still, Mrs. Abernathy doesn't think there's any young girl in the area named Chloe.

\---

This time, Beca only spends a few days looking. She already suspects she won't find Chloe, and instead of hurting from the abandonment it strangely feels like magic.

\---

_One year later..._

Jesse had come home. He's changed, older, broken almost. His smile for Beca, however, hasn't changed, and he stops by a few times a week to help out the best he can with only one functioning leg. She would never tell him so, but Beca finds the cane somewhat dashing.

Always Mrs. Abernathy watches over them, with an approving but ever-constant eye. He can't officially court her until Dr. Mitchell returns to the estate, but that doesn't mean they aren't allowed to spend time together. The older woman is fairly certain that when Beca's father does come home, a wedding will follow soon after.

"Beca," Jesse greets with a smile as she brings him a glass of water. He's got his hands in the dirt, planting flowers along the side of the house. It's late in the season, but he insisted when he learned there were none of Beca's favorites nearby.

The irises looked lovely against the dark brown of the earth and the red brick of the wall.

"You mustn't tire yourself," she says gently, watching as he wipes sweat from his brow.

"I'm fine," he says with a laugh. "It's just a bit of gardening." He eases into a sitting position, back against the house, and pats the ground beside him. "You can watch over me if you like."

She rolls her eyes, but flounces down next to him. "Don't call for me when you faint dead away," she says firmly, refusing to meet his eyes.

"I won't," he reassures her, eyes twinkling with laughter. "You'd leave me to perish, I fear. I shall call for Mrs. Abernathy instead."

"Do so," Beca insists, glaring at him now. "I'm sure she would come racing to your rescue." Suddenly, she finds herself wondering if Mrs. Abernathy is attractive. She's not quite old enough to be Beca's mother, and Mr. Abernathy had died of the mumps four years back. It makes her feel funny in a way she's unfamiliar with.

"Quite so," he laughs. "But still," he adds, bumping her shoulder with his own. "I would much rather be rescued by you."

She shoves him back, nearly sending him toppling over. "Cheeky," she scolds, but she can't help the smile on her face. Beca's missed Jesse, missed him almost as much as she misses her father. He's her only friend, after all, and she cherishes him.

"Now go on," he says, giving her the glass and moving stiffly back to his knees. "I've got work to do, young lass, and you are fair distracting."

Beca pouts at him, but stands up. She watches him work for a while before heading inside.

Mrs. Abernathy invites him to dinner, which Jesse graciously accepts. It's simple, greens and some stew made with game purchased from the neighbor boy (a rather nasty brute of a child, but Bumper charges less than most for what he catches and it is wartime, after all). Still, the company makes the meal delicious, and Beca is sorry when Jesse stands with the help of his cane and sees himself out. She offers to walk him to the edge of the property, but Mrs. Abernathy quickly shoots down the idea.

Beca does her chores, singing softly to herself the entire time. When she finishes, she's not tired, her body still humming from the day. She stays outside to watch the fireflies, assuring Mrs. Abernathy that she will come inside soon.

She's not quite sure when she dozed off, but when Beca opens her eyes it's to darkness. She makes a small noise, and the darkness moves, a soft chuckle making it's way to her ears.

"Tis a silly thing, t' find ye at yer doorstoop," Chloe drawls, her voice quiet and amused. "Have ye been troublesome, t' be sent t' sleep outside?"

Beca yawns, not quite fully awake. "Hello," she replies softly. "No, I'm not in trouble. I must have just slipped off." She sits up, carefully, giving Chloe time to move from hovering over her. "You came back."

"Aye," Chloe agrees, plopping down next to Beca. She reaches out and pulls the girl to her, rubbing her hands up and down Beca's arms. "Did ye miss me this time, m'lady?"

It should be awkward. Beca doesn't interact with anyone other than Mrs. Abernathy and Jesse, and the latter is more playful pushes and the brushing of fingers as items are passed between the two. Chloe is wrapped around her, long limbs elegantly holding Beca hostage.

"Maybe," Beca admits, her hands fluttering awkwardly as she tries to figure out where to put them. She settles for placing them in her lap, but it leaves her feeling like a lump. "Only because you were gone so long. Where do you go?"

"Here an' there," Chloe replies, her breath ghosting over Beca's ear. It causes a shiver to run down Beca's spine, which means Chloe simply holds her closer. Beca's not cold, though. No, it's more like her entire body is on fire.

"It's strange to only see you once a year," Beca says, wishing she could see the girl now. She misses the blue in Chloe's eyes. Neither the freshly-planted irises nor the summer sky make up for the blue she sees when the other girl is looking at her.

"Tis?" Chloe muses. "Suppose so." Her nose brushes against the back of Beca's neck, and the brunette tenses. "Must say, it seems I've missed ye as well." Her hands find Beca's, rubbing soothing circles over the back of them. "Don' make a habit o' coming back t' places I've been, most times."

Beca can feel herself relaxing into Chloe, the tension slowly leaking away. "Why is this place so special?" she asks, and it's not the question she wants the answer to but she feels that Chloe understands anyway.

"Yer no' th' only one t' want that answer, m'lady," is the other girl's response. Suddenly, her hand comes up, perilously close to hitting Beca in the nose. "D'ye see that?" Chloe breathes, excitement evident in her voice.

"No," Beca replies hesitantly. She has no idea what Chloe's pointing at, the girl's hand just a black outline in the dark.

"Tis th' centaur, galloping cross the sky," Chloe says, tracing her finger as if she were painting across the night sky. "D'ye know th' story?"

Beca shakes her head, leaning back fully into the other girl's embrace. "Tell me," she whispers, closing her eyes.

Chloe's soft words are like sunshine, and she sees nothing but flashes of red and green, with brilliant blue shot through.

\---

Beca is found the next morning, sleeping in the garden. Mrs Abernathy is beside herself (and when did she fall asleep, she'd been moving around the kitchen cleaning up, waiting for Beca to come back inside) with worry, for Beca is feverish and unresponsive. She struggles to get her to the couch, and frets throughout the day when Beca won't wake up.

Finally, late afternoon finds the girl's eyes opening, bleary blue-grey eyes looking about in confusion. She's too weak to stand, and her hand trembles as she drinks down the broth the housekeeper had waiting for her. She doesn't speak much, except to apologize for worrying Mrs. Abernathy so, and it isn't long until she falls asleep again.

The older woman is too worried to scold, even though Beca obviously had woken up enough at some point to find a pile of leaves to layer on top, like a blanket.

\---

Beca doesn't bother looking for Chloe. Instead, her fever dreams are filled with the other girl, fingers dancing over skin and blue eyes sparkling with hidden mirth. When she gets better and the dreams end, she misses them.

\---

_One year later..._

The wedding is a small affair. Dr. Mitchell's sister and her family come from London, and Jesse's mother and siblings are there. The village priest is old and hard of hearing, but his words have resonance as he leads them through the ceremony.

"Oh, Becs," Dr. Mitchell says tearily, clasping his daughter's hands as they mill about in front of the church. "I'm so happy for you. I wish I could send you and Jesse away."

"It's fine, Father," Beca says quietly, and her smile is genuine if a bit strained. After so many years of separation, she feels like she doesn't even know the man anymore. His hair is going, and there's a paunch that she doesn't remember, and when she looks in his eyes she doesn't see anything familiar. "The war."

Dr. Mitchell nods, a small frown creasing his brow. "I have to return soon," he says, and it feels like she's heard it so many times before. He's become a broken record.

"Dr. Mitchell," Jesse greets, coming up slowly behind Beca and putting his free hand on her shoulder. "Come, now, no tears. This is a joyous day!"

Beca smiles at him, and she loves him. She does. But something feels missing, and her eyes travel up to stare at the brilliant blue summer sky.

They have a small feast at the Mitchell home, filled with laughter and stories and Jesse feeding Beca the choicest bits off of his plate. She forgets, here amongst her family, that things aren't perfect, and when she laughs it's genuine.

With her aunt's family staying with them, Jesse is forced to stay at his mother's, as there's simply no room in the house. Beca rooms with her cousins, while her aunt stays with Mrs. Abernathy. Her uncle is still at the front. It's a strange way to spend her wedding night, but Beca doesn't mind. Amy, Cynthia-Rose and Lilly have already endeared themselves to her, and despite having seen each other a handful of times in their lives they are already inseparable. Beca falls asleep under a pile of children, a smile on her face.

She wakes up to a _tink, tink, tink,_ and after a few minutes of carefully extricating herself from the bed she moves to the window. She doesn't even really see the form down below, just that there is one, and she's pulling on her dressing gown and flying down the stairs. She's through the kitchen and out the door, slamming into the slight frame that waits for her.

"Oof," Chloe says teasingly. "Yer a wee bit big for me t' be catching now."

Beca doesn't say anything, simply wraps her arms around the girl and holds her tightly. "You came," she whispers, and is shocked to find tears in her eyes.

Chloe's arms come around her, running softly up and down her back. "Aye, that I did," Chloe hums. "For ye, always, m'lady."

Beca pulls back, words on the tip of her tongue, but Chloe ducks her head down and presses soft lips against Beca's.

She's shocked. Appalled, almost. Yet, somehow, Beca's hands are reaching up to wind into locks she knows are the color of fire, pulling Chloe closer. Her mouth moves willingly under the other girl's, and when a tongue traces her bottom lip she instinctually knows to open up.

Beca feels like she's dying, somehow, here in Chloe's arms. She doesn't ever want it to stop.

But suddenly Chloe pulls back, and Beca's blinking at her in surprise in the darkness. "What?" she asks, and bites her lip, suddenly so unsure of everything.

Chloe grabs the hand that is on her cheek, tracing softly until she reaches the simple ring that's there. "Ye married," the girl says softly, her eyes lost in the night.

"Today," Beca replies, just as quiet. "Jesse Swanson. The gardener boy."

Chloe nods, hand still covering Beca's. "Good man. He treats th' forest right."

It's a strange comment, but Chloe's opinion of Beca's husband is the last thing she wants to talk about. "He's with his mother. My aunt is staying for a few days. He won't join us in the house until she's gone."

Chloe relaxes, just a little, and only then does Beca realize the girl had been tense to begin with. "He hasna had ye yet," she murmurs, and the relief in her voice is palpable.

Beca isn't a child, not anymore. At seventeen, she's seen animals mate. She knows what Chloe means. "No," she replies. "He hasn't."

But somehow it's not the right thing to say, because Chloe is stepping away from her, out of Beca's arms. Her hair gets tangled in Beca's ring, and Beca can see Chloe wince as she moves away, ripping a few strands out. "I should go," Chloe says, not quite looking at the other girl.

"No," Beca replies firmly, startling Chloe for the first time. "I think not." She moves forward, reaching out and grasping Chloe's hands in her own. "You always leave me," she accuses, wishing for light so she could see Chloe's eyes, her face. "Whatever did you expect?"

Chloe shrugs, but doesn't pull her hands away. "Nothing," she admits. "Our worlds are no' meant t' mingle, m'lady."

Beca definitely doesn't know what that means, but she doesn't care. "But they do," she says, and now her fingers are twining with the other girl's. "I want them to."

A shaky breath leaves Chloe, and Beca's surprised to see what may be the glimmer of tears on her cheeks. "Isna a good idea," Chloe warns, but she doesn't move away. Doesn't pull away.

"I missed you," Beca breathes, and her lips are on Chloe's again.

Chloe takes a moment to respond, but when she does, the passion is enough to consume Beca. She cannot get enough of the feel of Chloe's hands on her skin, fingers tracing her contours, and when they dip under her nightshift she simply kisses her all the harder.

Beca's seventeen. She may not know the steps, but she's seen this dance before.

\---

The rest of the household is woken by the sound of sobbing, and when Mrs. Abernathy rushes into Beca's room she finds the cousins wailing over her still form. Her breath catches as she wills it not be a dead body that greets her, and when Beca breathes, just barely, the housekeeper almost faints.

Dr. Mitchell is at a loss as to what ails his daughter. Jesse comes and paces outside the door, as best to his ability, his cane make a rhythmic tap on the hall floor. When Mrs. Abernathy finally gets them to take a nap, their hovering doing no good to the still girl sleeping in her room, she sneaks out to find the local midwife in hopes for some - any - assistance.

Aubrey looks Beca over, runs her hands over limbs, fingers, face. Her eyes are vacant as she feels the stillness in the unconscious girl.

"Has this happened before?" Aubrey asks, finally finishing her examination.

Mrs. Abernathy nods, handkerchief dabbing at her eyes. "Every year, around this time," she says through quiet sobs. "It gets a bit worse each time, though."

Aubrey hums, eyes tracing over Beca's profile. "Pretty girl," she points out. In truth, Beca is stunning, as well everyone in the village knows. Many of the boys had regretted their ill temperament with her in previous years, jealous that the gardener’s boy had captured what they could not. "She's fair enough to catch even their eye."

"What? Who's?"

But the midwife will only shake her head. "I can tell you what to do to protect her," she offers, her eyes soft as she looks at the grieving woman. "But it only works if she wishes to protect herself."

The older woman scoffs. "Of course she does," she says. "What must I do?"

"Cold iron. St John's wort. Dress her with clothes inside-out. If you have bells to weave into them, so much the better," Aubrey rattles off.

Mrs. Abernathy gapes at her. "Are you daft?" she asks, before she can stop herself. "Surely you don't believe-"

"Do it or not, what's the harm?" Aubrey asks, rising from her perch at the end of the bed. "A little superstition is good for the soul."

A hesitant nod is the only response, and the midwife quietly sees herself out.

\---

Beca wakes after almost three weeks. She's lost weight, and is so weak that she falls back asleep almost immediately. It takes her a month before she can walk outside again, with assistance. Still, she smiles, and there's something new there that gives them all pause.

\---

_One year later..._

"Are you sure you're alright, dear?" Mrs. Abernathy asks, hovering over Beca as she settles into a lounge out in the garden.

"Quite, Mrs. A," Beca replies, almost cross. She smiles, though, quick to soothe ruffled feathers. "It's really too lovely to be cooped up inside."

It is at that. The day is gorgeous, the colors popping brightly in the summer day. The blue of the irises fight with the sky, and a delicate breeze winds through the trees.

"Look, I have water and everything," Beca says, gesturing to the glass and pitcher nearby. "Come check on me in a bit, I won't go anywhere."

Mrs. Abernathy wants to make her promise, but that's fairly silly. "Jesse will be here later," she says instead. "I'll send him out to you once he arrives."

Jesse had taken her illness hard. Insisting that he was not satisfied with the pension he received from the army, he took off to London with her father to study medicine, with the intent of bringing her there once she was healthy enough. Her recovery had been slow, however, and even now she became short of breath easily. Even now, they have spent no time together as husband and wife.

"Thank you, Mrs. A," Beca says with a smile.

With that, the housekeeper slowly leaves, throwing glances over her shoulder at the young woman in the garden. She sees Beca pick up a piece of paper and her quill, dipping it in ink before dashing it quickly over the page. She'd taken to writing a few months prior, but had yet to share anything.

Satisfied that Beca will be alright for a bit, she heads inside the house, determined to whip up a welcome home meal for Jesse.

Beca writes for a bit, scratching the end of her nose absently as she ponders her words. Eventually, she puts the quill down and leans back, stretching slightly. "You're staring," she murmurs out into the quiet of the garden.

"How could ye tell?" Chloe's voice drifts back. "Wi' yer eyes shut."

Beca smiles, but doesn't open them. "I can feel you," she says. "Come, sit with me."

It isn't until she feels a hand sneak into her own that she opens her eyes. It's been three years since Beca has seen Chloe by the light of day, but she is just as beautiful as remembered. Her hair falls down past her shoulder in soft, red waves, flowers and leaves snaked through it. Limbs, thin and strong, lightly bronzed from the sun, encased in clothes more plant than cloth. Freckles dusted gently over her nose, and her eyes, so blue as to shame the sky, are staring at Beca like she's the only thing worth looking at. 

Like nothing else exists.

"Did ye miss me?" Chloe asks, and there's a yearning in her voice that resonates in Beca.

"Every moment," Beca replies instantly, and is rewarded with a smile so bright it brings tears to her eyes. "I love you."

Chloe freezes for a moment, and then she's scooping Beca up, swinging her around and laughing. "Are ye mad?" she asks, holding her tight. "How can ye? I'm a phantom, a will o' th' wisp, here an' gone again."

"I do, though," Beca laughs, holding tightly. "Madly, deeply in love with you."

Chloe sets her down on her feet, but Beca doesn't falter. She's stronger than she looks, stronger than she's wanted to seem. She reaches out, pulling Chloe to her, brushing her lips against those she swears she'll never forget as long as she lives.

"Yer a married woman," Chloe gasps, once she's managed to separate herself.

Beca shakes her head, pulling away. She shows Chloe her ring, waits until the girl is focused on it, then pulls it off. Underneath, a strand of red hair is looped around her finger, tied tight. "Only you," she replies. "Still only you." She reaches out again, her hand linking with the Chloe's. "I love you. Take me with you this time."

Chloe stills, then. Her eyes are serious when they meet Beca's, in a way she's never seen them before. "Ye don' know what yer asking," she cautions.

"Do you love me?" Beca demands hotly, eyes flashing.

Chloe looks startled. "Aye," she says after a moment, and the answer somehow surprises her. "Since I first laid eyes on ye, wi' blackberry juice on yer fingers and th' wind in yer hair."

"Then nothing else matters." Beca laughs, and moves past Chloe, pulling her towards the edge of the garden and the forest beyond. "So take me with you."

The smile on Chloe's face is so bright it fills Beca's whole world, and her chest swells with love.

\---

Jesse finds her on the lounge when he arrives, letter on her lap. It takes him a moment to realize she's not breathing, and he's crying when he drops to his knees beside her, despite the pain. Her wedding ring is in her palm, not on her finger, and though he sees the red hair in its stead it means nothing to him. He dashes the tears away to look at the page, but all he sees is one word, over and over again.

_Chloe._

**Author's Note:**

> So, this came out of nowhere. I just suddenly had this image of Chloe as a feral child, and went from there. Also, if you find my facts on wartime England wrong, or Chloe's written accent annoying, or anything else wrong with this, sorry! I didn't feel the need to get deep into it, and the accent... well, it just kind of happened. Anywho.


End file.
